


Pretty Little Princess

by Everyday_Im_Preaching



Category: House M.D.
Genre: Anal Sex, Domestic, Domestic Fluff, Dominant!Wilson, Edging, Hand Jobs, Idiots in Love, Kisses, M/M, Oral Sex, Orgasm Control, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Sex, Shopping
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-17
Updated: 2018-09-17
Packaged: 2019-07-13 17:42:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,630
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16022810
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Everyday_Im_Preaching/pseuds/Everyday_Im_Preaching
Summary: Wilson is good at many things, but in House's experience, he's really good at convincing people to do things that they don't want to do. In this case, he's convinced House to have his toenails painted--a bright blue, to match his eyes.But House thinks that the reward is worth it. It almost always is, when it comes to Wilson.





	Pretty Little Princess

**Author's Note:**

> Hey there guys! I have a present for you! All nice and neat and wrapped up in a little bow. This fic is heavily inspired by episode 17, "All In" in season two, where we learn that Wilson canonically paints his toenails.
> 
> If you like this and would like to see more, I'd love to hear from you in the comments below!

 

“I can’t believe you dragged me out to go…” House looked at Wilson’s cart, and then at the fluorescent lighting that shone over a shelf of rounded nail polish bottles. “...shopping. And, as I was told, grocery shopping. Not shopping for a new shade of nail polish for your perfectly manicured little toesies.” 

WIlson knelt down beside the display case and peered at the different shades. House winced as he heard his knees pop. “Just because you’re too wound up in your own masculinity to appreciate the finer things in life doesn’t mean we all are,” He replied, slightly breathless. “Though I would like your opinion.”

“My opinion is to bring Cuddy along with you, next time,” House grumbled. He stuck his cane in the cart and leaned heavily on the handle of it. He let his eyes drift over to Wilson. “Get both.” 

“You’re saying I should get both this,” He held up a bottle of pastel pink polish. “And this?” He then held up a bottle of equally pastel green. “For my feet?” He looked down, feet tucked away behind a comfortable pair of dress shoes. 

House nodded, and then cocked his head to the side. He looked at the paints again. “Maybe something darker for the green. Sage, maybe? Make a nice contrast.” He flicked his eyes to the end of the aisle. People were passing by, but few were looking at them. 

“You should paint yours too,” Wilson suggested. He gasped— it was sharp and fake, but it had House looking at him all the same. “We could paint each others. Get some face masks, have a real spa day—” He plucked a striking shade of blue from the bottom shelf and held it up to the light. “Matches your eyes.”

“A boys night in, huh?” House muttered. “Want to go grab some cucumbers too? Slice ‘em up, lay them over our eyes. Talk about our problems. Really air everything out.” He straightened— the best he could, anyway. “We could make popcorn and watch some crappy rom-com too.”

“You know the rule about rom-coms,” Wilson muttered. He picked something else off the shelf before tucking it into the cart, next to various foodstuffs. House peered over to see, noticing that he had indeed placed the blue nail polish as well as a small manicuring kit inside. He turned to Wilson and caught was smiling. “If we watch a rom-com, you have to put out.” Before House could protest, Wilson had ducked down and pressed a soft kiss to his mouth.

House was stunned for a moment, barely capable of watching Wilson push past the cart. Wilson had never kissed him in public before, and certainly not in street clothes in the middle of a store aisle. 

“I have to put out?” House asked, cocking an eyebrow. “Why don’t you?”

“Because you’re the one who always cries during the movie,” Wilson told him. He reached into his pants pocket and pulled out his list. “You sure you’re up for this much walking?” He looked up at House, notably concerned. “We can get one of the electric carts from up front, if your leg is bothering you.”

House pursed his lips and then shook his head. “Nope. I think I’m good,” He fidgeted with the cart for a moment. “You know what would make me better? Is if you kissed me again.”

“If I kissed you again?” Wilson questioned. He gave House a once over. “If you agree to that little spa day scenario, then I’ll kiss you in the middle of the main aisle. And tell you I love you.”

“That’s a little gay, isn’t it?” House asked. “To announce you love a man in the middle of the store.”

“Well, I am bisexual, so it’s possible that that doesn’t bother me.” He tugged lightly on the cart, watching House clutch at it. “And I’m...finding it hard to be ashamed of you. As easy as you make that.”

House wanted to say that his ears didn’t burn at the confession. “So, nails, face masks, cucumbers over the eyes,” He grunted and shifted so that more weight was put upon the cart then his bad leg. “All in exchange for a confession I can get out of you by sucking your cock?”

“Well, you can’t exactly give me oral in public,” Wilson told him. He was looking at his list again. “Do you need more socks? We should pick up a pack while we’re here anyway.” He fished for a pen for a second and House sighed. He slipped his hand into his pocket and brought out the pen he’d stolen earlier from the bank. 

Wilson took it without complaint, scribbled something onto the paper, and then handed it back. 

“I’ll do it,” House announced. “Spa day for a kiss and a confession.” He shoved the cart forward, almost right into Wilson’s legs. Wilson yelped and jumped out of the way, looking rightfully scandalised. 

“You’re not even trying,” Wilson replied, though it was in jest. “But if that is your final offer, I have to say I’m hard-pressed to refuse.” He waited for House to push the cart past before following behind. “We should get some more air freshener too, for the bathroom.”

“How are we out of the other stuff already? You’re the only one that uses it,” His nose crinkled as they turned into the centre aisle. It was fairly crowded, and mostly with children that fell into both the ‘loud’ and ‘annoying’ categories. 

A hand placed itself on House’s arm, stopping him. “You haven’t been using it?”

“No, of course not,” House muttered in return. The flow of shoppers moved around them, each one obviously annoyed. Wilson sighed and squeezed House’s arm. House almost wanted to shrink from the pressure, but remained still. 

“You’re making it really hard to kiss you.”

“Is it me? Or is it the nerves?” House challenged. 

“It’s you,” Wilson confirmed. He reached a hand up and threaded it through House’s hair— House didn’t have time to complain before his head was turned toward Wilson and captured in a kiss. And it wasn’t gentle or chaste— it was a promise. Solid and warm against his mouth, much better than any ‘I love you’ or spoken word. 

Wilson pulled back with a dumb, sappy smile on his face. “I love you.” It was loud enough that people turned their heads to stare. “And I know you’re going to look great in that nail polish.” He kissed the side of House’s face, lips scratching against his stubble. House narrowed his eyes, suspicious. 

 

Wilson was putting up the groceries, when House gimped into the kitchen. 

“That was a set up, wasn’t it?” He asked, leaning against the doorframe. Wilson looked up at him, confused, and then back at the inside of the refrigerator. “You’ve never kissed me in public, and normally you hate PDA— you’re more nervous about the world knowing you’re bi than a long-tailed cat in a room full of rocking chairs. So, why was today okay? What changed?”

“Nothing’s changed,” Wilson told him, loading the milk into the fridge. He looked up at House, who was now lording over him. “I’ve just come to a realisation.” 

House cocked his head to the side. “A realisation? New information, old information— either way, it sounds like something’s changed.” 

Wilson nodded to himself for a moment, lips pressed into a tight line. He looked between House and the fridge again. “I...I want to spend the rest of my life with you,” He nudged the grocery bag away from him so he could stand. He had lifted his hands, and now they floated between the two with no real purpose. He cleared his throat. “And if I love you enough that I’m willing to put up with your shit, then I should love you enough to be able to express it in public.”

“I don’t need you to do that for me, Jimmy,” House replied. He tapped his cane against the ground, thoughtful. “I hope you’re not going soft on me. It’s much more fun if you’re on the edge of leaving at all times.” 

Wilson snorted. “Try again. Maybe this time you'll sound convincing.” He shut the refrigerator and then went about putting up the dry goods. “You can't hide from yourself forever, you know. And you definitely can't hide from your feelings. You already asked me to move in with you.” 

House pressed his tongue under his bottom lip thoughtfully.  “Unless I asked you to move in with me so I could use you,” He reasoned, though he knew the argument was standing on shaky legs. “It’s always good to have someone around to move furniture. And pack in groceries.” 

“Keep talking House, it’s not going to change a thing,” Wilson told him. “And it’s not going to get you out of getting your nails painted. Or the face mask.”

“You actually bought the face masks? When did you put those in the cart?” He reached down and grabbed at one of the reusable bags that Wilson insisted they use. 

The masks were tucked between bandaids and the bag of socks that Wilson had thoughtfully bought for him. Their packaging was brightly coloured and gaudy. House wasn't sure how he'd missed them, in-store.

“When you weren't paying attention.” 

Peeking into one of the bags on the counter, he saw the flashy packages winking at him. “Can I even use that? I have stubble.”

“Yes, you can,” Wilson told him. “And believe me, I’m well aware of your facial hair.” He looked up at House, who was about two seconds away from pouting. “Oh, come on. It’s good for your skin. And we’re bonding.” 

“Is this bonding?” House asked. He came around the table in the centre of the kitchen to stand by Wilson’s side. Wilson’s face was expectant— but instead of sassing him, House leaned over and pressed a kiss to his cheek. “It’s kind of cute, the way you want us to be all domestic.”

He shambled behind Wilson, and then appeared on his other side. “Do you think that’s going to work out?”

“In the end, yes,” Wilson answered. “There’s nothing wrong with being domestic. You’re just used to a certain level of excitement.” He flicked his eyes up to House and then turned toward the cabinets.  “I’m afraid you’re not going to find it here. You’re not going to rile me up as easily as you do your fellows.”

“Why’s that?” House asked, leaning against the table and cocking his head to the side. “Think you’re better than them? Harder to annoy?”

“I don’t think I’m better than anyone. I just think I know you better.” 

House snorted. “What a load of bullshit.”

Wilson shrugged, finally coming down to the final bag with their spa day supplies inside. And House’s socks. He waved it at House— and on his way past him, stopped to tug at his shirt. Once untucked, his fingers slipped under the fabric and splayed out against his soft stomach. 

“What movie did you want to watch?” He asked. House gritted his teeth as the hand pulled free and fingers plucked at a button instead. “You still want to pick out a rom-com, don’t you? If you don’t pick, then I’ll just play russian roulette with your wall of DVDs.” 

“I have just the thing.”

 

House washed his feet, picked  _ Something’s Gotta Give _ , and then snuggled up to Wilson on the couch. And by snuggled up, he meant he shoved his feet reluctantly into his lap and stared lazily at the screen. Wilson didn’t seem offended in the least. He instead went about painting House’s toenails, occasionally glancing up at the screen and commenting on how attractive Jack Nicholson was, or about some trivial plot point. 

Fingers wandered down House’s leg, gentle as they skimmed over his thigh; he tried not to jump as they worked over his scar, and then back down.

“What are you doing?” House asked— a yawn escaped him halfway through his question. Wilson shrugged and drew the brush, laden down with blue paint, across House’s big toenail. 

“Painting your nails,” Wilson replied simply. “What does it look like I’m doing?” He squeezed House’s calf. “Leg’s not hurting you too bad?”

“Not right now.” House shifted to get more comfortable on the couch. “Is that a subtle way of asking if I want you to fuck me?”

Wilson snorted. “No. I do care about you, House. Plus, I have my own nails to do, since you refuse.” He stretched one of his legs out; he’d cleaned them off with nail polish remover before he’d started in on House. “You can put on your face mask while I do that.”

“That would be pointless. I’m going to wait until you put yours on, so I don’t have to suffer through another twenty minutes of this pampering bullshit for you to fuck me.” 

“You like it,” Wilson replied without hesitation. House shot him a glare, which he ignored. “And it’s not like anyone is going to see them. You don’t even own a pair of open toed-shoes.”

“Knowing my luck, someone will find out,” House argued in return. “Cameron, probably. She likes to snoop around in my personal life.”

Wilson’s shoulders rose and fell in a shrug as he capped the bottle of blue polish. He set it aside, briefly trapping House’s legs before coming back up with a bottle of clear finish. House rolled his eyes when he saw it and wiggled against the couch, once again trying to get comfortable. 

A shudder worked its way through House as Wilson blew softly on his toes, encouraging them to dry. He wiggled them, and then jumped when Wilson pressed a kiss to one of the knuckles. A low huff left House as Wilson smiled at him, eyes crinkling in mirth, obviously amused with himself. 

“That’s gross,” House pointed out.

“Gross? You just washed your feet,” Wilson pointed out, kissing the next toe. He looked at House’s toes and cocked his head to the side. “Don’t they look great?” 

House caught a flash of blue as Wilson sat up, and then narrowed his eyes and the bright colour splashed across his toes. It didn’t look bad. 

“It’s okay,” House grumbled out, curling his toes. Wilson laughed at his disgruntled response. “You’re pretty good at this.”

“I’ve been painting my nails for years,” Wilson replied, preening at the compliment. He ran a hand through his hair. “Started in college, actually.”

“Is that when you started blow-drying your hair too?” House asked with a grunt. He turned his face toward the television and crossed his arms over his chest. Wilson shook his head and leaned all the way back against the couch to better see the movie. “Jack Nicholson has not aged well.”

Wilson made an unsure noise. “I don’t think that’s necessarily true,” He pursed his lips and then squinted at the screen. “I mean, I’d have to be really drunk to sleep with him. But I don’t think he’s ugly.”

“I never said he was ugly. I said he hasn’t aged well,” House corrected, in the same way he always did. “How many drinks do you think it’d take you?”

“Before I fucked him?” Wilson quizzed. House nodded, not taking his eyes off the screen. “Depends on the alcohol. And the situation— I’m currently a taken man, after all.” He blew on House’s toes again, smiling when he shivered. “A happily taken man.”

“We get it, you’re deeply and irrevocably in love with me,” House all-but snapped. He rolled his eyes when Wilson pouted at him. “You better finish before the end of the movie.”

Wilson clicked his tongue at him. “Patience is key,” He advised. “You don’t get good nails in fifteen minutes.” He shook the clear coat, eyes gluing back to the screen. “Dr. Mercer is very unprofessional, falling for a patient like that.”

“Pot calling the kettle black,” House crowed. “You’re a hypocrite, Dr. Wilson. Do you want me to list every patient you’ve slept with?” He cocked an eyebrow, and when Wilson didn’t respond, he sighed. “But it is pretty unprofessional. And illegal. Could cost him a job if this wasn’t some garbage movie.”

“You own this garbage movie.”

“I like trash,” House replied, faux offended. “And I have to watch something while I wait for General Hospital.” He jumped as a hand brushed against the top of his foot. Looking down, he noticed that Wilson was opening up the clear coat. “What are you thinking for dinner?”

Wilson let out a hum. “I was thinking we could order in. Chinese, maybe.” He began the process of painting House’s toenails once again. “After all, you said you didn’t want to wait too long for me to fuck you. So I figured dinner could wait until after.”

“You’re so good to me.”

 

He didn’t want to admit it to Wilson, but his toes looked amazing with the polish on them. Nicely done, too, almost like he’d gone to a professional. And his face felt the cleanest it had in years. 

House jumped when arms wrapped around his waist and lips pressed against his upper cheek. 

“You’re skin is really soft,” Wilson murmured. His hands worked themselves down House’s lower back, thumbs digging in just enough to release a knot or two. “And it smells good. Kind of like peaches.” He kissed lower, brushing his lips against his stubble.

“Keep your pants on,” House grunted out, even as fingers hooked into his belt loops. “I’m supposed to be the horny one.”

“We can both be horny, Greg,” Wilson reminded, kissing his jaw. “Just because you can’t control yourself doesn’t mean everybody else can’t.” His hips ground forward and House both cursed and thanked god for how close in height they were. He could feel Wilson’s cock through the sweatpants he’d donned as soon as they got home. 

“You’re the one humping me in a bathroom,” House pointed out. “We should get to the bedroom before you decide fucking me against the vanity is a good idea.” He felt himself tugged at and he let Wilson pull him backwards.

A mouth pressed against his pulse point, featherlight. “That’d be awful for your leg,” Wilson pointed out. “I’m trying to do the opposite of hurting you.” His voice was husky, and House was already on his way to being hard. 

The bedroom felt like an eternity away. But he hobbled there all the same, with the help of Wilson; encouraging kisses and an arm to lean on helped cut the journey in at least half. Once at the bed, Wilson’s fingers went to curl around the hem of House’s shirt and gave a soft tug, dragging it up to reveal the pale of his stomach and his soft happy trail. 

House narrowed his eyes as Wilson shifted down the bed. His mouth pressed against House’s belly button. House couldn’t help but snort— it was short lived as a tongue licked at the soft hair of his stomach. Playful teeth bit down, just enough to leave a mark. He kissed upward, following the trail back up and over his belly button. 

“Have you been using my body wash?” Wilson asked, shoving House’s shirt further up to reveal a set of dusky brown nipples. He kissed under House’s breast, and then kissed up and over it. His mouth found the hard line of his collarbone and he eagerly dragged his teeth over it. House let out a grunt and his hand found the back of Wilson’s neck and gave it a squeeze.

“Maybe,” House replied. “What are you going to do about it?”

“Nothing. It’s good for your skin,” He nudged House’s arm out of the way so he could kiss at his side. He straddled House, hips to hips—his nails dragged down House’s sides, drawing thin lines of red, then white, into his skin. “And it makes you smell much better than the other stuff you were using.”

The fingers paused. Wilson kissed his way back across House’s chest and then up his neck—he nipped at his jugular, smiling against the skin when he gasped. 

“You know, since you use the same body wash, liking it so much might make you a narcissist,” House teased, turning his neck up to reveal the length of it for Wilson— he greedily kissed and bit at the skin, sucking hickies into the sensitive flesh. Wilson’s fingers found House’s nipples and gave them a soft pinch. 

“If either of us is a narcissist, it’s you,” Wilson corrected. He rolled his hips tighter against House’s. House let out a hiss and fisted his hand into Wilson’s hair— his other hand went to shove at his pants, but he couldn’t work it in between Wilson’s hips and his own. Wilson probably planned it that way.

As if on cue, Wilson snatched his hand up and pinned it to the bed beside his head. He entwined their fingers, now working his hips in smooth circles. 

“Not enough for you?” Wilson asked innocently. His lips trailed up House’s jaw, and then pressed a kiss to the corner of his mouth. “I always forget that you need the same amount of friction in bed as you do in real life.” 

“Oh, fuck off,” House tried to sound angry, but his voice faltered. Wilson sounded unbearably sexy, and it made so much sense that he could get just about any woman in bed with him. Had the looks, had the voice— had that slightly dominant nature in bed that was so unlike him at work. 

Wilson pressed a kiss to his mouth; it was wet and warm and his tongue lapped forward. House opened his mouth immediately, letting the thick muscle press inside. It was dutiful in its work and pressed into every corner of his mouth and slid across his tongue. It counted his teeth and made him breathless and dizzy. 

“ _ Fuck, _ ” House growled when he was let up for air. Wilson nipped at his chin, seemingly unphased. 

“Eventually,” Wilson replied. “Depends on how you ask.” He pinched at the nipple still trapped between his fingers, getting House to jump. Before he could swear again, Wilson was kissing him again. His words were quiet, whispered against open, quivering lips. “You know, I like it when you make those little noises— the ones in the back of your throat? Moans, I think?”

House gritted his teeth. His breath hitched when Wilson bit his cheek, leaving yet another set of obvious indents in his skin. “Stop fucking teasing me,” House demanded, remembering the hand he still had in Wilson’s hair. He yanked sharply, forcing Wilson to look up and bear his throat. 

Dark eyes looked down at him, glittering with amusement. House snarled, an ugly thing, before yanking Wilson down and mouthing up his throat. He bit down just hard enough to feel Wilson twitch— not in fear, but in  _ excitement.  _ House worked his teeth up, and then down, Wilson’s throat. 

“That’s not how I would ask,” Wilson sounded far too amused. He reached up and grabbed at House’s hand. House was reluctant to give up his grip on his hair, but something in him ignored his own wishes— his fingers unclenched and were gathered in Wilson’s. They, like the others, were entwined with Wilson’s and given a light squeeze as they were pinned to the bed. 

“Are you going to fuck me?” House demanded. He jerked his hips up and gritted his teeth against the burn in his bad thigh. 

“I plan too, yes. Unless you’ve something pressing you need to attend to.” Wilson’s eyes searched House’s— when he nodded, Wilson kissed him again, soft and wet. “Your leg okay? We don't have to do this. “

“If I didn't want this, we wouldn't be doing it,” House assured gruffly. This time, he kissed Wilson. 

Wilson nodded and released House's hands, only to draw his own down his chest. The partially forgotten shirt was stripped away and Wilson scratched lightly at the hair on House's chest. They then mapped downward, over the planes of his stomach with focused care. House opened his mouth to complain but Wilson had a hand over it before he could blink.

A soft hush left Wilson's mouth, accompanied by a single finger pressed to his lips. “You talk too much.”

House nipped at the palm of Wilson's hand, but couldn't get enough flesh in his mouth to bite down, so he settled for glaring. 

“You are such an asshole,” House pointed out when Wilson removed his hand. He wouldn't admit that he was  _ slightly  _ turned on, not by something so far away from his normal demeanor. 

And it wasn't like he needed to tell Wilson anyway. He already  _ knew.  _

“I guess you’re rubbing off on me,” Wilson teased, plucking at House’s nipples. House wiggled on the bed and arched his back slightly— fingers tickled at his stomach, and he wiggled further. His glare never lessened. That was, until the button on his jeans was popped free. 

“Now we’re talking,” House murmured. His jeans were worked free and he wasn’t surprised when his boxers were shucked off too, kicked somewhere near the end of the bed to fall to the floor when the two of them weren’t paying attention. Wilson’s mouth was kissing at his stomach again, littering the flat space with kisses. 

Teeth scraped across House’s hip and then down. Wilson kissed at the base of House’s cock, sloppy and wet. A low hiss left him and a hand returned to Wilson’s hair. Wilson hummed happily in response, peppering kisses up the length and then drawing his tongue along the slit at the top. House yanked at Wilson’s hair, trying to encourage him to take him in his mouth. Wilson closed his mouth and looked up at him, cocking an eyebrow.

“Oh my  _ god,  _ you fickle bitch,” House twisted his fingers tighter in Wilson’s hair. “Do you want me to beg or something?” Wilson nuzzled the cock in front of him, and then gave it a soft kiss. “ _ Please.  _ Please just suck my dick and fuck me already, James.” He yanked Wilson’s hair hard enough to pull him away from his crotch. He met Wilson’s eyes, completely serious. 

Wilson cocked his head to the side, now both of his brows raising in question. He still looked  _ amused.  _ Like he was having the time of his life. Like he wasn’t achingly hard between his thighs. 

“Let me go, Greg,” Wilson’s voice was soft, but it was an order. House’s fingers worked free at the sound of it. They brushed the side of Wilson’s face and then fell away, partially ashamed at how easy it was to listen. 

“What do you think you’re playing, Wilson?” House grumbled as the head of his cock was kissed again. And then Wilson was taking it into his mouth, all the way to the root. One of his hands held House’s hip down whilst the other yanked his good leg over his shoulder. House let out a rattled, broken gasp and his eyes fluttered shut. 

Wilson bobbed and suckled slowly, working his tongue over it better than any whore or hooker or  _ woman  _ that House had been with. House’s hands found the sheets beneath him and he tried, desperately, to ignore how desperately he wanted to grab at Wilson’s hair instead. 

“Are you just good at oral?” House wheezed out as Wilson swallowed around him, nose pressed tightly against the curly pubic hair at the base. Wilson looked up at him from under hooded eyes before pulling back, making a lewd, wet sucking sound as he did so. House let out a choked noise in response, sass cut short. 

“I’ve had a lot of practice,” Wilson panted out, when he came up for air. House warred with himself on whether to close his eyes or watch closer, pleasure-hazed brain unable to process Wilson’s flushed face and the spit and precum drenching his chin and dripping out of his mouth as he panted.

“I want to cum all over your face,” House said. 

Wilson seemed to consider it for a moment, before wrapping a hand around House’s cock. He kissed the side of it and began to pump it, keeping eye contact as he did so. House’s breath hitched in his chest and his hips unwillingly jumped up—Wilson watched him almost shrewdly, fisting him, waiting until he was twitching in his hands before encircling the base of his cock and preventing him from coming. 

House was almost too winded to respond, though he  _ wasn’t  _ too winded to refix Wilson with a glare. A curse left him, wickedly long and as creative as he could manage, with the current state of his mental affairs. He did notice that Wilson was stripping down, pushing off his sweatpants and shirt. 

“No, I don’t think I’ll let you,” Wilson murmured, pulling his filthy hand from House’s cock so he could slip it up his stomach. House swore again, wincing as Wilson pulled his hand away. It was sticky and uncomfortably wet. Wilson leaned over him, everything about his posture a warning. A challenge for House to move or try to reach between his thighs and jack himself off. House didn’t take it. 

“Were you like this in bed with all of your wives too?” House demanded through gritted teeth. Wilson carefully opened the condom, ignoring the snide question. “If you could get them to orgasm at all.” 

Wilson let out a soft hum. “I wouldn’t antagonise me, or I’ll leave you with the most common medical condition teenage boys suffer from,” He popped the cap on the lube and looked up at House. “Blue balls.” 

“You wouldn’t.”

“Try and test me Greg,” Wilson replied, somehow calm, even though House could see his dick curved up and hard through his boxers. House restrained a groan at how wet the tip had become— wet enough to leave a large, dark spot where the head pressed against the fabric. “I’ll go maturabate in the bathroom while thinking of Daniel Dae Kim.”

“How am I supposed to compete with that?” House demanded as he slapped a hand down on the bedspread beneath him. 

Wilson laughed at the question, finally pulling off his boxers and tossing them aside. 

“Well, for the record, I find you much more handsome,” Wilson teased, smoothing his hands down House’s calves. He pulled them away to roll the condom onto his cock, and House almost thought it a shame— Wilson had a pretty cock, even when it was erect and the foreskin was retracted. It was thick and heavy, with a rounded, mushroom head. Dressing it up in latex had to be a sin.

“You’re lying,” House accused. “We all know you have a thing for asians.” 

“I do  _ not  _ have a thing for asians,” Wilson argued back, pouring a good amount of lube into his hand. “You do.”

House gasped, mock offended. “I do not. I like all my men Jewish,” He hooked his arms back around Wilson’s neck as he slid between his thighs, slicking up his cock in smooth, even strokes. “And all my women with big tits.” He turned his head down to look at Wilson’s chest. “Okay, I like my men with tits too. You should grow them bigger, honey.” 

Nails dug into his good thigh and House grinned. “There’s no need to be ashamed of them. Nothing wrong with having a set of pillows like these.” He slid his hand down and gave one a squeeze, much to Wilson’s chagrin. 

Wilson didn’t acknowledge the statement, taking the time to line up instead. He leaned his mouth close to House’s ear. “If your leg starts bothering you, make sure to tell me.” He kissed House’s earlobe. 

“For fuck’s sake, would you stop momming me and—” House was cut off by his own gasp as Wilson pressed forward, breaching him and ceasing his complaints. His body all-but vibrated at the familarity of it, and the arm around Wilson’s neck tightened. House leaned forward and pressed his face against Wilson’s neck. 

House was a smartmouth. It was ingrained in every cell of his being. But when Wilson fucked him, it was like his brain short-circuited. His thoughts scattered to the wind, the pain in his leg faded into nothingness. All he could hear was his own breathing. All he could see was that focused, starved stare that Wilson was giving him. 

Heavy fingers wrapped tightly around his hips and he could feel Wilson panting against his hair. House managed a wicked grin: Wilson wasn’t unaffected. He had just had a better poker face. House hauled his good leg up and wrapped it up and around Wilson’s back, urging him to press deeper, to get  _ closer. _

Wilson dug his thumbs into House’s skin, keeping his slow but steady pace. House twisted his fingers back into Wilson’s hair, demanding kisses as a form of payment to abate his need. This sort of behaviour had started out as Wilson wanting to take it slow, to make sure he was okay— now it was like some sort of game to him, edging House on, forcing him to take only what was given to him. 

It was agony. The best kind of agony.

“So, when are you going to go full dom on me?” House breathed out. Wilson was in to the root, and had slid a hand under House’s head to cup his neck. 

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Wilson replied with that faux innocence that had House wanting to dig deeper. He stored the information away for later, instead. It was hard to think with Wilson's dick now rocking into him.

Wilson's hips ground forward, the head of his cock pressing sharply against House's prostate. House let out a choked noise, that was followed by a long, drawn out groan. His head flopped back against the pillow and the bed shook slightly as Wilson began to thrust—House couldn’t tell if it was because his bed frame was old, or if Wilson was that much of a powerhouse underneath all those layers of stuffy clothing he always wore. 

“You’re always so quiet,” Wilson rasped in House’s ear. He was greeted with a keen, though it was staccato and reluctant. His thrusts were ruthless, plunging into House and shoving against his prostate with each one. House’s mouth hung open in a steady pant. “It makes sense that a dick is the only thing that can render you speechless.”

House slapped his hand against Wilson’s chest, eyes blazing with heat at the comment. Wilson kissed at his open mouth, unfolding his tongue into it and inviting House’s to play with a demanding flick. House was quick to do so, remembering that he still had an arm around Wilson’s neck. He yanked him down, taking command of the kiss and trying not to hiccup. 

When Wilson pulled away, House was left more of a mess than before. 

“Let me,” He panted, closing his eyes. “Let me enjoy myself, you prick.”

“I think I’m  _ personally  _ contributing to you enjoying yourself,” Wilson said with a grin that House was eager to kiss away. Back down he came when House tugged at him. Their mouths connected in a sloppy, hot mess of teeth and tongue, neither of them coordinated enough to make it a proper kiss. “Fuck,  _ Greg, _ ” Wilson whispered against the corner of his mouth. 

House didn’t answer— little, fucked out noises were escaping him, cutting off any further attempt at conversation. Wilson busied himself with kissing at House’s stubble, over his jaw and chin— anywhere he could reach. The bed was  _ really  _ shaking now, and House’s hips were beginning to ache. But the pleasure far outweighed any complaints he’d have about that. At least in the moment.

Wilson’s house slid down and palmed House’s cock, getting his entire body to jerk—the extra stimulation was almost too much. He turned his head away from Wilson. Wilson’t mouth found the newly exposed flesh and bit hickies into it. Marking him in a way that his fellows, and more importantly,  _ Cuddy,  _ would notice. 

“You know you want to,” Wilson suddenly whispered in House’s ear. He dragged his thumb across the head of his cock, wiping away pre-cum and spit alike. That was all it took for House to come—Wilson followed behind, groaning and stuttering out House’s first name. House winced away from it, knowing it didn’t sound, well... _ attractive.  _

House let Wilson lay over him for a moment, obviously tuckered out. The rest came with the benefit of soft nuzzles and whispered kisses. But eventually his leg, now sparking with renewed, familar pain had him shoving at Wilson’s shoulders. Wilson yawned and rolled over onto his side, soft cock pulling free of House. 

“You're always such a good fuck,” Wilson murmured. He kissed at House's jaw. 

“Yeah. I know,” House grumbled. “You know, if you really want to hold me down and fuck me, you can. I'm not gonna bitch if you want to get a little rough.” 

Wilson snorted. “You mean you won't call the cops on me for cripple abuse?” He kissed the space behind House's ear. “You're a little delicate. What if I break you?” The tease in his voice was obvious. 

“Oh, you patronising piece of shit,” House reached over and pinched Wilson's arm, hard. Wilson helped. “Get the fuck out of my bed.”

“Did you have to pinch me so hard?” Wilson asked, rubbing at his arm. “For fuck's sake, House. Now I'm definitely staying.” He cuddled up against House's back, taking the position of the big spoon without asking. “And I'm going to cuddle you.”

House rolled his eyes, but didn't fight him off. “Sure, trap me here. You're going to regret it.” He focused his gaze on the window ahead of him. “I'm serious. You want to explore, there's no better time to do it. We're both middle-aged men who aren't going to get anything better, sex-wise.”

“I'm flattered.”

“Flattered? You should be ashamed that the only ass you can get is a bum-legged misanthropist.” House slipped his good leg between Wilson's. “Are you going to take that condom off? And what about dinner?” 

Wilson jerked back and proceeded to take the condom off and tie it. It was tossed into the trashcan beside the best, and Wilson cuddled back up against House. 

“I think that there's not much of a better,” Wilson admitted. “I think you're best.” He kissed the back of House’s head. “We’ll get dinner in a bit. It’s only six.”

“And I think your standards are far too low.” House grunted. “Works out for me though. I guess after three wives, you'll take anything that catches your interest.”

“Do you ever bathe in the afterglow, or are you insistent on making people miserable right after? Did you berate hookers after you fucked them too?” Wilson asked, voice tired but warm. 

House cocked his head to the side. “I have to fulfill my purpose in life, don't I?” He felt Wilson press a kiss to his temple, and sweaty hair tickled his ear. “We should shower. We're gross enough without smelling bad too.”

“Not right now,” Wilson laid a hand on House's side. “You might not be able to enjoy the post-coital haze, but I'm up to my ears in it. Enjoying what a good fuck you are.”

His ears heated with the compliment. It made him hesitant to leave the bed. He sighed, making is discomfort known-- but he didn't move, letting Wilson press his chin to the top of his head. 

Wilson wasn't too bad of a fuck either. 

**Author's Note:**

> Hey there! Welcome to the end of the fic!
> 
> Song for this fic:  
> Call My Name by The Unlikely Candidates
> 
> Want to stay updated? Want to chat or shoot me a prompt? Have an idea that you'd like me to consider for this pairing? Feel free to click [here](http://everyday-im-preaching.tumblr.com/) to do all these things and more!


End file.
